Summer is dying - though the heat is still enjoyable in the desert, there is a shift in the gales that snake through the streets of Day Court. Cooler weather is on the cusp, though Solterra is not one for changes in the colors of the foliage or the intensity of the sun, but the days would begin to waste away and chasing daylight would become sport.
This evening, as the sun begins its descent beyond the horizon, the last rays of light are staining the adobe courtyard of Solterra blood-red. Children are playing games in the long, ominous shadows cast by the clay homes of commoners. Elderly are sipping water like fine wine, some of them fanning themselves, while a guard or two stands post on every few street corners.
A bleeding sunset reflects light of the metallic skin of a paint mare as she sinuously creeps through the streets. The jingling of bells on her thigh would always announce her arrival amongst her people. She forgets that she doesn't have to hide in the dark any longer, though the sight of citadel police would always cause her heart to climb into her throat. She can recall her days sneaking through the shadows, like a thief in the night, tip-toeing her way past nobles who lay in the streets drunk. And although she is still wary, still paranoid of the wrong people finding her, Fever sashays with a confidence as she moves amongst her kingdom.
This is her kingdom. Her people. Her livelihood.
Carefully, she makes her way into the alleys in an attempt to reach one of her favorite spots to watch the sunset. Once she is sure she is alone, her guard slips, and she takes a brief moment to rest against the cool clay of a building. Her shoulders are still blighted by the wounds she received while sparring in the colosseum. Though the scraping on the left shoulder-blade has begun to scab over, yet the bruising on her right side has blossomed into ghastly purple and blue shapes. It was painful to the touch, and whenever she wasn't fighting it, she would have an obvious limp.
Fever sighs softly, in a bit of a blissful lull as she remembers fighting the stallion, craving that special breed of excitement that sparring brings. She wonders if Solis is pleased with who she has become: from house slave to battle-ready, from dragging chains to dancing and singing for her people, from ragged and emaciated to sharing her wealth with the children in the streets.
Something suddenly catches her attention, and she is to believe she is no longer alone in the alleys. She pushes herself off the wall as to hide her weakness, put on a guise of attentiveness, and cranes her swan-like neck in curiosity - her golden and black eyes hungry to meet whoever has stumbled across her.
@Swahili redemption thread <3
This evening, as the sun begins its descent beyond the horizon, the last rays of light are staining the adobe courtyard of Solterra blood-red. Children are playing games in the long, ominous shadows cast by the clay homes of commoners. Elderly are sipping water like fine wine, some of them fanning themselves, while a guard or two stands post on every few street corners.
A bleeding sunset reflects light of the metallic skin of a paint mare as she sinuously creeps through the streets. The jingling of bells on her thigh would always announce her arrival amongst her people. She forgets that she doesn't have to hide in the dark any longer, though the sight of citadel police would always cause her heart to climb into her throat. She can recall her days sneaking through the shadows, like a thief in the night, tip-toeing her way past nobles who lay in the streets drunk. And although she is still wary, still paranoid of the wrong people finding her, Fever sashays with a confidence as she moves amongst her kingdom.
This is her kingdom. Her people. Her livelihood.
Carefully, she makes her way into the alleys in an attempt to reach one of her favorite spots to watch the sunset. Once she is sure she is alone, her guard slips, and she takes a brief moment to rest against the cool clay of a building. Her shoulders are still blighted by the wounds she received while sparring in the colosseum. Though the scraping on the left shoulder-blade has begun to scab over, yet the bruising on her right side has blossomed into ghastly purple and blue shapes. It was painful to the touch, and whenever she wasn't fighting it, she would have an obvious limp.
Fever sighs softly, in a bit of a blissful lull as she remembers fighting the stallion, craving that special breed of excitement that sparring brings. She wonders if Solis is pleased with who she has become: from house slave to battle-ready, from dragging chains to dancing and singing for her people, from ragged and emaciated to sharing her wealth with the children in the streets.
Something suddenly catches her attention, and she is to believe she is no longer alone in the alleys. She pushes herself off the wall as to hide her weakness, put on a guise of attentiveness, and cranes her swan-like neck in curiosity - her golden and black eyes hungry to meet whoever has stumbled across her.
@Swahili redemption thread <3
![[Image: 45505141_kShAGp5UVRG2Lvt.png]](https://f2.toyhou.se/file/f2-toyhou-se/images/45505141_kShAGp5UVRG2Lvt.png)
i am a forest fire; i am the fire and i am the forest
and i am a witness watching it
